"Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!" The loud noises relatable to a 'saavu melam' (loosely translated from Tamil as 'death percussion', not because it kills you, but because it is played as a send-off for a dead person. Awesome rhythm though.. You must listen to it if you have never listened to it before) emanated from the door as I heard loud cries of offensive words coming from my wing mates on the other side of it showing more enthusiasm than while playing Call of Duty, given a month's paid leave and sent to Disney Land for free along with Katrina Kaif, all at the same time. It was ironical that the celebrations for the day I was born made me want to kill myself. The climax would involve a poorly decorated cake, most part of which was going to decorate my face though (Some day I need to teach them that it is primarily for eating, because there are children starving in Africa and all and, consequently, food should apparently not be wasted). Then photos would be posted on facebook of a smiling idiot with face covered in cream trying to suppress pain. The caption would say 'Happy birthday', apparently, though it made me wonder which part specifically was going to be happy in this barbaric celebration.
Probably the only thing that gave me a little confidence that I could live to see another day was the turkey towel. Stuff the towel into the back side of your pants and you are good to go. Well, may be not too good, but good enough. I thought that the purpose of the towel was finally getting fulfilled more than while taking the occasional bath in winters just because my own stink was unbearable to myself. If you faced a similar situation and didn't have a towel, then borrow beforehand from a friend, or from South Korean pop stars, who wrap themselves in one of those towels and lean their heads over an adjacent half-naked guy's shoulder (Any resemblance to people dead or alive is coincidental).
By this time, you must have mentally pictured your last birthday celebration that was barbaric. If you never had one then you must have done some Punyam in your previous Janma or taken bath in Ganga Jal. I felt the time stop for a while just as it did during the Gitopadesha in Mahabharata (yeah, pretty dramatic, I know). It's just that instead of Krishna giving notes to Arjuna, who like a first bench kid interrupts with comments and doubts, it was my sub-conscience convincing me to go outside while I was trying to resist it. Instead of the battle of Mahabharata it was the party outside. And instead of the wounded soldiers it was going to be my wounded bottom and probably pride too.
I sat there in front of my computer watching the first 'Happy Birthday!' post popping out on top of my facebook home page at 12 am, which by the way would have been copy-pasted from the 'Say Happy Birthday!' notification, followed by more wishes occasionally adorned with smileys and exclamations or sometimes random special characters, which, I perceived, were attempts to invent some new smileys. The guys were waiting outside for the party and I decided to have a small talk with myself. I wanted to inspire myself like Aamir Khan of 'Mangal Pandey' but ended up like the one in '3 Idiots' saying 'Aal iz well.. Aal iz well..' to myself. Who was I kidding? If I called these fun - getting spanked on my butt a million times with sandals first and then with wickets followed by roasting it using flame fuelled by a deo spray - then all was well.
The traditional birthday bumps would be underway in a short while. They would be delivered in different rounds like you have questions in KBC. Just like how you have hot seat there, my seat was going to get hot here. All those friends who were nice all day till then would have turned into a barbaric horde making me wonder if they took a crash course from Attila, The Hun, all of a sudden. I think I saw flyers for that in my nightmare the previous night. The nightmare felt so real until I saw people getting trained by slapping Chuck Norris, which was a physical impossibility. Then at that time I received a text message for an accident insurance ad. For an instance, I considered taking it.
Possibly the funnest part for my friends, and fortunately the least physically painful part for me, was the ragging that would follow. I would be given a variety of choices to pick from, like singing 'Kolaveri' or dancing 'Gangnam style' or describing my favourite person, although it seems tougher than answering a question in JEE. I had to play to my strength. But picking one would not ensure not having to do the others. After the entertainment, I would be crowned with the decorative strip of paper stuck to the sides of the cake and sung 'Happy Birthday' that would be both sweet, because of the gesture, and disturbing, because of the poorly trained orchestra.
*Toink* *Toink* - my sub-conscience poked me as the time unfroze. "Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!" - the knocking had grown louder and fiercer. "Bow wow!" - that is just the dog in front of the hostel, irrelevant to our story. I got up and got to the door. I opened it amidst loud cries of birthday wishes. I thought to myself, "All jokes apart, this is going to be fun" and then closed the door behind.
